


Tripping on Neon

by exklusiv



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Crossdressing, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exklusiv/pseuds/exklusiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of a disgusting punk kid, a disgusting rave kid, and how they managed to help fix each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tripping on Neon

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the [Ragehappy Big Bang](http://ragehappybigbang.tumblr.com/masterlist) on Tumblr. I plan to post a new part at least once a week, because this turned out way bigger than 10,000 words, and people need a breather now and then.
> 
> The rating is subject to change, and will be noted when it does change.

_This story began on a rainy night in Austin, Texas, in my friend’s guest bedroom, where I’d been living. He didn’t mind. Being a doctor had its perks, and me saving his ass a few times didn’t hurt either. I’d been a photojournalist in the army and I liked documenting and reporting. My friends tell me that I tell the best stories, especially when I’m drunk. They were always encouraging me to write a book, to get my stories out there, but I never knew what to write about, what story to tell, so I never did. It wasn’t until I began looking up British news articles on a slow day at work that I found the story I wanted to tell. There was a small piece on a group of kids in London that liked to ignore traditional values and take drugs under a black light; rave kids, in other words. I read up on them a little more and realized how deeply fascinated I was; I wanted desperately to go and document this subculture. But there was the problem that I was making fairly little money in my tech support job, and I had no idea how to go about doing it. It was on that rainy night, sat in, having some beers and playing some Halo, that I casually mentioned this desire to travel abroad and research the kids. And it was through the prodding and the encouragement of my friends, who completely financed my trip to London by pooling their money and practically packing my bag for me (you guys completely forgot to pack me any fucking socks, by the way), I was able to pursue my dream of making a nonfiction novel about this partying, drug using group in the middle of London._

_There were many things I thought about on my trip. I had the girl of my dreams waiting for me in Austin, a girl I was going to marry (though I didn’t know that at the time; I had previously sworn off marriage after my first one went south in a big way, and had told this girl to not get her hopes up) and I was also leaving behind that not-so-good paying but fairly decent job as a tech support manager. It was that knowledge alone had left me wondering if I should have gone in the first place. I was putting all my eggs in one basket with this project, and I was terrified of something happening, like I’d get there and find out the subculture didn’t exist, or they’d be there but no one would give me permission to write about them, or any other number of problems I could come up with._

_As fate would have it, I found the subculture and was overjoyed when I could observe. But it was after I began melting into this scene that I realized the story had taken a shift from an overall view of the subculture to one person in particular, one person who has had such a profound effect on my life, I’m not sure I put it properly into words. When I returned home after my summer abroad, I didn’t write the piece right away. In fact, it was well after I married that girl I loved and she was pregnant with our daughter that I wrote the story, and only because my wife asked me to write it and had an editor friend of hers willing to help me dive into the work. It had taken me two years to put the words on the page and write down the experience as honestly as I could, and I believe the long wait gave me enough time to look back on the memories in a retrospective kind of way, after which I felt I could tell the story more genuinely._

_One year of writing almost constantly, stopping only to argue with my editor, change diapers, and sleep (showers are an unnecessary part of life when you are a writer and a parent), brought about this tome that you now hold, and whose foreword you are reading. It is my greatest honor to present to you the story of a disgusting punk kid, a disgusting rave kid, and how they managed to help fix each other._

* * *

Geoff Ramsey stepped onto English soil on the second of May, a month and a half before his thirtieth birthday. He had an overstuffed suitcase, a bag with all the things he needed for his research, and ambition. Months of hearing about this strange crowd that London was hiding and wanting to document it was coming to fruition, and Geoff couldn’t wait to get started. According to his friends, who had financed the trip almost entirely, they had set him up with an apartment until the end of August, and would wire him money for things like food and other necessities every week. All Geoff had to do was settle in and get to work.

The apartment they’d picked for him was modest, a studio apartment that was furnished with nothing but a mattress and box spring that sat on the floor, a dining table and chairs for two, a minuscule entertainment center, and access to laundry. Geoff didn’t need much else, since it was going to be just him. He had gone out and gotten a few things that were necessary after settling himself into the apartment, like plates and cups and a coffee maker, to make the place feel a little more homey.

He spent his first week holed up almost entirely in his apartment, cross-referencing known locations of the rave spots with possible sightings, scouring the internet for even the slightest hint of their presence. He’d spent far too long nearly obsessing over the idea to let them slip out of his grasp; he was going to find them. When he’d stumbled across the article originally, which had briefly mentioned these strange kids that liked to spend their free time dropping acid and waving light sticks in a warehouse while shitty house music played from huge speakers, he had scoffed at the idea; the 90s were over, after all. But then he began thinking on it more, and went back to the article, looking for any links to another article about them. The one he found included a picture, and something about the mix of boys and girls, all in a variety of odd dress, with paint on their skin and glowstick halos in their hair. Something Geoff couldn’t place in his mind was full of desire for this group; he needed to know more, needed to know why, needed to know these people.

But, opportunity was apparently done knocking and off to the next person, because every time Geoff went out to the locations he was sure they might be, there was nothing. Not a single wisp of color, not a touch of smoke, not the bone-rattling bass of techno music. As far as he could tell, the rave group only partied on weekends, so he went out on the weekends, looking, searching. Friday night, Saturday night, and Sunday night, Geoff was scouring the town, hailing taxis to get to his next location and walking, looking, listening, asking those he could find on the streets if they knew of any parties happening in the area. And week after week, he would turn up empty, trudging into his apartment at four in the morning to fall listlessly into bed, disappointed and discouraged.

It was his third weekend when he almost gave up hope. He’d gotten an almost ironclad promise from a stranger who knew the area that on Saturday night, “those colorful tossers” were going to have a party in an empty warehouse. He went out on Saturday night, messenger bag slung across his shoulder as he walked up and down the avenue where he’d received the tip-off. The night was cold, and Geoff was glad he’d brought a jacket. May in Austin would have found him sweating; May in London was apparently still considered winter.

He found a lot of homeless people, convened together, and asked them if they had seen anybody unusual around. One smarted off that he was the only unusual one they’d seen, but another politely told him that no, they hadn’t seen anyone. Geoff checked to make sure they knew he meant the rave kids, and they did, but they hadn’t seen them at all. Geoff thanked them, gave them a little money, then wandered off, straining his ears to listen for anything. He began to shiver as the night dragged on and he couldn’t find anything, making sure he was on the right street, hoping he wasn’t missing anything. 

The night was cold, still, and silent when Geoff checked his watch, saw it was three am, and decided that he wasn’t going to find them tonight; he went home dejected and frustrated. He did not go out that Sunday; he stayed in, ate leftover pizza, and wallowed in misery, resigned to the fact that he was not going to find them.

He stayed up late on Monday, half-heartedly checking off the locations he could look to find the group. It was around midnight when he dialed home, hoping they were all congregating at his friend Gus’ apartment for game night. Luck had enough sympathy for him that they were, and there was a happy cacophony as Gus answered the phone.

_“Dude, it’s been a while! You better make these collect calls worth it!” he said into the phone, sounding ecstatic to talk to his friend again. “So, what’s going on? It’s been a few weeks, what have you found out?”_

Geoff was silent for a long moment, then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I think I made a mistake.”

_“What? I don’t get it, you were super excited when you left!”_

“Well, yeah, that was when I thought these people existed,” Geoff said, leaning against the wall. “Gus, I have been looking high and low, practically tearing this goddamn city apart. I haven’t found anything.”

_“Nothing?”_

“Not even a goddamn glowstick,” Geoff replied, his voice tired. “I think I made a mistake coming out here, Gus. I’m chasing a weird, twenty-first century fairytale here. I’m not going to find what I’m looking for.”

There was a little bit of rattling on Gus’ end, then the static grew a little louder. _“Geoff, I put you on speaker. My motivational speeches can only go so far.”_

 _“What’s going on, man?”_ Geoff heard Burnie say. The guilt ran deep; Burnie had put a substantial chunk of money into Geoff’s trip, being the one with the most to spare, and had put absolute faith in Geoff. _“Something happen?”_

“God, Gus, why did you— fuck,” Geoff swore, rubbing his forehead. “I think I wasted your investment, you guys. There’s nothing here. Not a damn thing. That stupid picture was probably a group Halloween costume or something. I’ve gone looking, and I’ve turned up nothing. Like, some homeless people said they had seen them, but I’ve gone every direction they’ve pointed me, and there’s nothing. There is absolutely nothing here. I’m wasting my time and your money. I’m sorry.”

There was a silence, in which Geoff was sure someone was going to yell at him, before he heard a definite snort come from Burnie. _“Wow, thanks for the update. You could have emailed us this and saved a ton on the phone bill.”_

“What? I don’t get it, I thought—”

 _“Geoff, lemme ask you a question,”_ Burnie said, and Geoff could almost see him crossing his arms. _“What possessed you to think you’d strike gold the moment you got there?”_

“Uh.”

 _“Christ, Geoff, you weren’t going to find it right away! Come on, man, nothing’s ever that easy,”_ Matt said from the side, obviously exasperated.

_“You have the lease on the apartment until the end of August. Use it! Scour everything. We’re giving you this money because we believe in this, you asshole. You made us believe in it. And I will be damned if we don’t make you fucking find them. Got it? Come on, man, you’re like the mom out of all of us.”_

“The mom?” Geoff asked, pulling a face as he tried to work out what Burnie meant.

 _“If you can’t find it, we’re fucked,”_ Gus clarified; Geoff snorted and shook his head.

“You’re all a bunch of pricks. Fine, fine, Christ, I’ll keep looking. You’re all a bunch of bullies.”

Matt clicked his tongue. _“You’re the one who stole our lunch money.”_

 _“That means we’re entitled. Now hang up, this is costing us a fortune,”_ Gus said.

“I love all of you assholes. Thanks for the kick in the ass. I’ll talk to you all soon.”

There was a groan. _“Not too soon, this really is kind of expensive!”_

Geoff chuckled as they all said their goodbyes and he hung up his phone. Resting his head against the wall, Geoff stared at the papers scattered around his laptop, spread out all over the floor like he was a conspiracy theorist. With a smile, Geoff stood up, grabbed a beer from his fridge, and sat down in the middle of all the papers. If he was going to look for these people, being a little drunk while doing it was definitely going to make his friends proud.

* * *

Geoff spent the rest of his week cross-referencing, making phone calls, and sending e-mails, checking his sources, asking newspapers, and thoroughly covering his bases. Several dead end correspondences led into one that looked bright and promising, from a member of the news team that had run the original story on the rave kids. He had shared a few emails with Geoff, and had given him some relevant information. Apparently, the group had no known pattern of moving about and just happened to party wherever they could, but there was one warehouse they liked to go to on the last Saturday of the month. He said it had something to do with tradition and bringing in the new month. Geoff had thanked him for his information, assured him he would email again if he had any other questions, then set out all the things he would need. He kept a fairly decent camera in his messenger bag, along with at least two disposable cameras, and plenty of notebooks and pens. He was confident he was going to need all of the things he had with him. This was the night he was going to make it happen.

He skipped out on Friday, unwilling to waste any resource he had when he was positive he was going to find them on Saturday. He stayed in instead, had a beer, and watched a rented movie on the small TV he’d bought to keep himself entertained when he wasn’t working. He went to bed and slept as long as he could, getting himself well-rested for the evening ahead of him.

The night was cold, clear, and quiet as Geoff walked down the avenue he had been told the warehouse was on, staying warm under his black jacket. The beat of his footsteps was the only sound he could hear in the still night air. He refused to let himself get discouraged, and kept walking, and listening, keeping an ear out for anything. He walked another few blocks before stopping he stopped under the glow of a streetlight, pulling out a map and making sure he was on the right path. He was double-checking street names when the loud smash of a metal door slamming open crashed into his ears. He whipped around, map still in hand, as two people, dressed brightly and lavishly, stumbled out onto the sidewalk, laughing and falling over each other.

They were a boy and girl, Geoff could tell as much. The girl had on a bright yellow tank top over neon tie-dyed leggings, with a large blue vest covering her shoulders. The boy’s only indication of being male was an Adam’s apple and relatively short hair; his clothing would have suggested anything else. Under a baggy black sweater that fell down to the boy’s elbows, he had on a neon pink tank top, covered with black mesh, black fishnets, thigh-high stilettos, and a puffy, tutu-like miniskirt. The pair giggled and walked into the edge of the light, the boy pulling out an old-fashioned case of cigarettes from a holster on his thigh.

_Art by[kirayamidemon](http://kirayamidemon.tumblr.com/)._

“No, you, you have the light,” he said, smiling as he pulled two cigarettes out of the sleek, silver case, handing one to the girl before tucking the case back to its place. She pulled a lighter out of her pocket and lit their cigarettes.

“Getting bloody hot in there, wasn’t it?” the girl said, sucking on her cigarette. She spoke with something like a Cockney accent.

“Couldn’t have survived in there another minute,” the boy agreed. His accent a little more refined; not posh but definitely not Cockney. Geoff’s eyes were wide in shock as he watched them, unable to believe his luck.

The girl turned to him and chuckled, looking Geoff up and down. “Oi! You got somewhere to be, mate?”

Geoff blinked. “Did you just come out of a rave?”

The boy and girl looked at each other, then smiled. The girl raised an eyebrow, which had a ring through it. “Well, look at that, a Yank, gotten lost in London.”

“Please, answer me. Did you come out of a rave?”

“Yeah, alright? Jesus,” the boy said, taking a drag. “What’s it to you?”

Unable to help himself, Geoff approached them. “My God, I can’t believe it. Are you guys in that group of rave kids that got covered in the news a few months back?”

The girl sneered. “Bloody reporters got their noses in our business. Yeah, we are. Why?”

“Holy shit. Well, uh, right. My name’s Geoff Ramsey, and I’m… a nonfiction writer. I cover real-life stories and write about it, like a novel.”

“Get to your point, mate.”

Geoff cleared his throat. “Well, I loved the story they did on you, thought it was great, really.”

“So, what, you just wanna take a sneak picture of us like the other bloke, then write a whole bunch of rubbish on us?” the boy said, taking a drag and blowing the smoke in Geoff’s face.

With his eyes watering from the smoke, Geoff tried not to cough. “Well, no. I’d like your permission to sort of immerse myself in your world and then write about you, so I could give the most honest portrayal of you I could.”

The boy and girl looked at each other skeptically, the girl’s eyebrow raised high. After taking another drag of her cigarette, she looked back at Geoff. “What’s in it for us?”

“I’m… not sure. The satisfaction of knowing someone is accurately describing you instead of just taking a shot in the dark?”

“So, let me get this straight,” the boy said, stepping slowly up to Geoff. Despite how thin and gangly the boy was, Geoff felt slightly intimidated by the look in his eyes and the rise of his eyebrow. “You want us to let you tag along with us to our ragers, so you can observe, scribble stuff down, and then write an entire book on us? And I’m not going to get anything out of it besides the pleasure of your American company?”

“I guess,” Geoff said, feeling like an idiot.

The girl and boy looked at each other. She waved a hand dismissively, but he smiled and blew smoke through his nose. “I think that sounds like a hell of a fun time. I’m in.”

“Really?” Geoff’s eyes widened as a smile broke out on his face. The boy took one last drag before throwing the cigarette on the ground and crushing it beneath his unbelievable shoes. “I can’t believe this. When do we begin?”

“Right now,” the boy said, grabbing Geoff by the collar. “Come on. Name’s Gavin, by the way. Gavin Free.”

Any reply Geoff would have had was silenced as the boy, Gavin, dragged him into the warehouse.

_Just looking at this boy, you’d never expect him to be as assertive as he was. David, as we’ll call him, left me little room to argue or protest. I always wondered what would have happened if my plan hadn’t been to gain access to the rave; I assumed that any little expression of curiosity would have given him the proper drive to yank me in anyway. I suppose his willingness was a stroke of luck on my part. Between us, I was expecting to either have to beg or gate crash. The fact that he surprised me, and was very good at surprising me, was bizarre. I’d always imagined that there was little that could catch me off guard. Five years in the army and plenty of moves around the United States in my life had given me the idea that I’d seen it all at least once. There was nothing that could faze me; then I was thrust into the rave. I thought I knew what it was going to be like, that it’d be exactly as it was described when I was a young kid in the nineties. But when I was dragged into that warehouse by David, the boy who refused to dress like a boy, I learned very quickly that not everything was as it seems._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a weird, big thing I undertook and I'm not even sure people are going to like it. But I like so that's all that matters. Feedback is greatly appreciated!


End file.
